


Operation Dragonfall

by Chi-chi-chimaera (gestalt1)



Series: Star Wars Fic Collection [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gestalt1/pseuds/Chi-chi-chimaera
Summary: After a mission gone wrong Cassian Andor stumbles onto information that could help the Rebellion to bring down the second most powerful man in the galaxy - Darth Vader. The will of the Force will bring him first to friends on Jedha, and then to young senator in training Leia Organa, who will find out more than she ever suspected about her past.





	1. Chapter 1

**5 BBY - Phindar, Mandalorian Sector, Outer Rim Territories**

The rain was coming down in torrential sheets, bouncing off the ferrocrete and forming puddles in potholes where the tough material had been worn away over the years. It poured from the sill of the doorway Cassian was standing under, making a curtain in front of his face. The wind whipped some of it into his shelter too, and it was starting to soak through his raincoat despite the poly-wax outer coating. Sunset had been half an hour ago and there was still no sign of his contact. 

He should give it up for a bad job and go. It was clear something had happened, and waiting around a meet location like this was poor practise. If someone had talked, or if someone was right now being made to talk, he risked capture by staying here. But his lodgings were a half-hours walk away - misery in this weather - and he couldn’t see a hover-taxi anywhere. Kaytoo was with the ship back in port - too conspicuous for _this_ planet and to be contacted only in emergencies.

Brilliant spotlights suddenly cut through the night, flashing against the wet sides of buildings and the road, half-blinding him. Cassian leaned forwards a little so he could peer around the edge of the doorway - and then slunk back immediately, his heart pounding. Stormtroopers and an AT-ST. Looking for something in particular - looking for him - or just a normal patrol? Impossible to make a break for it without being seen, and the moment they saw him they would want to question him. He couldn’t risk that. Cassian pressed back against the door, hoping that they would pass by without detecting him. 

His luck was not that good. Of course. 

The patrol was almost past him when one of the swinging searchlights came his way. A voice distorted by a stormtrooper helmet called out, “Hey! You there! In the doorway! Come out where we can see you.”

Cassian reacted without thinking. He ran. He didn’t make it very far. 

A blaster went off behind him and that was the last he knew of it for some while. 

\----

Cassian opened his eyes and was surprised to find himself still alive. The ache throughout his body told him well enough what had happened; he’d felt the after-effects of a stun bolt before. When he tried to sit up at first his muscles wouldn’t do anything except twitch, but eventually he managed to lever himself up by inches. He hissed with the pain. 

He was in a cell. Surprise, surprise. It was small, damp, dark, and otherwise occupied. The other sentient in the room was mostly hidden by shadows, sitting on the bench opposite the one he had been lying on. Cassian lifted a hand - as best he could - in greeting. 

“Hey.”

“You’re alive.” The voice didn’t sound quite right - feminine but with a harsh buzz laid underneath it. “I was beginning to think they’d shoved a corpse in here with me.”

“What an unpleasant thought,” Cassian replied. “Do you know where we are - aside from imprisoned of course?”

“Inside the main Imperial compound of this city,” the stranger said. “I think they plan on interrogating you, if I overheard right.”

Cassian’s blood ran cold, but he kept the easy smile on his face. Imp cells always had cameras. “What do they think I know?” he asked. “Is it a crime now to take shelter from bad weather?”

The other person shrugged. “If your ID is good I’m sure they’ll let you go only a little the worse for wear.” 

His ID was not good. It was passable, just about, but it wouldn’t hold up to close scrutiny. Cassian surveyed the cell door, looking for any kind of weakness. There wasn’t one. There were gaps in the metal but the external control panel wouldn’t be in reach even if he stuck his arm through. He didn’t have anything on him to short out the mechanism anyway. He needed to get his strength back first of all, but the best time to try something would be when they took him to be questioned. If he could get free then… 

“You think it’s gonna be easy to get out of here kid?” the stranger asked. Cassian glared at her, annoyed that he was so easy to read. 

“I am no kid.”

“Could have fooled me. How old are you?”

Cassian bristled. “Twenty-four.”

“If you say so.”

“And _you_ are so knowledgeable about escaping this place?” Cassian said. “Have you tried it before then and failed?”

“That’s right,” the stranger replied. “Although… the last time I didn’t have help.” 

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said to me.” He wasn’t going to turn down assistance when it came to getting out of here, even if it came from someone he had only just met. “If we’re going to work together we should know each other’s names at least. Mine is Sivan Oparr.” A lie of course, but it was the name on his falsified identification. 

The stranger took a moment. “Mine… I don’t remember. Not my real name.”

“What can I call you?” 

“Isk-Aurek Three.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t sound like a droid.”

“And you don’t look much like a Sivan.”

Cassian shrugged. He took her point, although he’d hoped his alias would sound… less like an alias. “How did you try to escape the last time?” he asked. “And what part of your plan failed?”

“The part where I wasn’t very subtle about it. They picked me up for the crime of looking like a suspicious sort of individual, and I tried what I suspect you’re planning - making a break for it when they took me out for interrogation. I knocked out my escort but I couldn’t find the way out and I kept running into more bucketheads. They took me down eventually, and now they’re waiting for my owner to come collect me.”

“Owner… you’re a slave?” Cassian was surprised - Isk-Aurek looked human from what he could make out in the dark, and human slavery was theoretically illegal in Imperial Territory. Plenty of alien slaves to go around and fulfil demand, especially since the Imps were the ones supplying them half the time. She could be from one of the humanoid species, he supposed.

“As good as,” she replied, although in the kind of chill tone that warned not to ask any more questions along those lines. “Now about your plan - they’re not complete fools around here. They’ll be expecting that if you try something, it’ll be then.”

Isk-Aurek was right about that. Still, at the moment they didn’t think Cassian was anyone special, certainly not someone with enough to lose that he would try something as risky as escaping an Imperial garrison. “I suppose,” he said, thinking it over, “if I make them come into the cell to drag me out…”

Isk-Aurek nodded. “We can kill them - or at least knock them out - and if we are lucky, one of their uniforms might fit.”

“Hopefully they do not watch the cameras too closely,” Cassian said. 

“I’m certain they don’t,” Isk-Aurek replied. “Two rotations ago a Phindian in the next cell killed his cellmate, and it took them half an hour to come investigate. That might have been by design - perhaps a bribe? - but we have to take the chance.”

Cassian nodded. It was the only one they were going to get.

\----

The Imps let him stew for a while before anyone came. Cassian didn’t think it was some kind of psychological tactic. He just wasn’t very high priority to them. Eventually however a couple of stormtroopers marched along the cell-block corridor and stopped in front of their door. One gestured for him to stand with a jerk of his blaster. Cassian shook his head, shoving himself backwards into the corner in a show of fear. He was trying to make himself look terrified - he was a decent actor and at least some of the emotion was real. They bought it. The trooper sighed and gestured to the other, who went away to find the door release. 

Cassian tensed in his crouch. Isk-Aurek was waiting pressed against the wall beside the doorway. 

The cell door hissed open, sliding into the ceiling. The trooper came down the two steps into the cell itself, his blaster held in one hand pointing at the floor while his other reached out to grab Cassian’s arm. Isk-Aurek took a step forward, fastened her hands around the trooper’s neck below the helmet, and squeezed. Cassian swore he could hear a crunching noise. The stormtrooper bucked against her grip, dropping his weapon and scrabbling at merciless fingers, to no avail. Isk-Aurek let him drop after a few minutes, after the last convulsions. The whole process had been nearly soundless. 

From away down the corridor, the other trooper called out. “Hey, you bringing the prisoner or what?”

Cassian thought fast. He let out a sharp yelp of pain, then shouted, “Hey, hey, get off me man! I’m not coming, I won’t!” 

Footsteps sounded, hard-soled boots against the metal floor. Cassian rolled the corpse onto its back and positioned himself on top of it, as though their struggle was still ongoing. He heard someone swear behind him, a shout of anger which quickly cut off. He leapt to his feet. 

The other buckethead was down. Isk-Aurek looked satisfied with herself. “These won’t fit me,” she said, “but you… maybe that one?”

It was worth the time to try, if only because if the uniform fit it would massively increase their chances of getting out of here. Cassian began to strip off the plastoid armour, and then the black body-glove underneath, trying not to think about the dead weight and lingering warmth of the corpse. Though it was a little gruesome, he couldn’t feel sorry that the man was dead - he had been an Imp after all. Needs must. 

The bodysuit had enough elasticity in it to fit him, and if the armour was a little loose it would still pass all but close inspection. Cassian scooped up the blaster and followed Isk-Aurek out of the cell. “Do you know the layout of these places?” she asked him. 

“A little.” Most Imperial garrisons on Outer Rim worlds were constructed to the same template, and that layout had been one of the things Cassian had been taught as part of Alliance Intelligence. Still, explaining _how_ he knew that would reveal more than he wanted to. He pointed. “This way.”

Isk-Aurek walked in front of him, her head bowed and her hands held together at the wrists, the picture of a model prisoner. Out here the lighting was much better and Cassian could get a proper look at his unexpected ally. She was… not what he’d expected. She was taller than him, skin an ashen unhealthy sort of colour, and she had obvious cybernetics. Both her hands were plain metal, fingertips sharpened into claws, and with armoured plating up each forearm that concealed exactly where cybernetic stopped and real flesh began. She only had one organic eye - the other could have been pulled straight from a droid. There were nasty scars on her scalp, cutting through long, dark, lank hair pulled back into a braid that was starting to unravel. He tried not to stare. She would definitely notice if he stared.

There weren’t that many stormtroopers in the corridors. Cassian wondered if this was an evening shift, or perhaps even the night shift, which would be a stroke of luck. Those they passed glanced at them with bored disinterest and looked away, making no attempt to stop them. Moving prisoners around must be a common enough occurrence even during off shifts. A few times at intersections Cassian had to stop and think, his mental image of the layout a little touch and go, but before long they were at the door leading to the entrance hall.

This would be the most challenging part. There was a guard-post at the entrance; a stormtrooper standing to either side of the door and a reception desk manned by a droid hooked in to the local database. It was the kind of check-point they couldn’t just walk past. Cassian pulled Isk-Aurek to one side so they could talk in hushed whispers while peering through the small window on the blast-door leading into the hall. .

“Do you have any kind of plan for this?” he asked her. She shook her head.

“I never got this far the last time,” she said. “But if we get rid of the troopers I can slice that droid, reprogram it so it doesn’t remember us being here, or that we walked out that door.”

Cassian looked down at the blaster he’d taken off the guard. It was set to stun - if the Empire kept a prisoner around it usually meant they were worth more alive than dead - and the kill setting had a bio-lock. Stun bolts generally weren’t strong enough to get through plastoid armour unless souped up some. 

“Can you slice _this_?” he asked. If they were going to go in smash and grab he would have to kill the troopers fast before they realised he wasn’t one of them while Isk-Aurek tackled the droid. 

She nodded and took the gun from him, bending over it a moment. She pulled a concealed compartment in her cybernetic arm opened and retrieved some kind of code chip, tapping it against the bio-lock which beeped happily and turned from red to green. Cassian took the blaster back, thanking her. It seemed she was thinking through their situation in the same way that he was because she didn’t ask any questions about the plan. 

“Okay,” Cassian said, “ready to go? On three…”

At the end of his count he palmed the door open and walked rapidly out into the room, the blaster held low across his chest. It took a few moments for the troopers to notice his presence and by that time he’d already brought the weapon up, aimed, and started firing. They didn’t even try to dodge. Both stormtroopers dropped with smoking holes in their chests, and Cassian turned to face the reception desk where Isk-Aurek had the droid in a kind of strange headlock while she pulled it’s exterior plating open with her metal fingers. It warbled panic at her in binary - Cassian almost felt sorry for it for a moment before he pulled himself together. No, it didn’t have any choice about being his enemy, but that made it no less dangerous. 

Isk-Aurek finished what she was doing quickly enough, and the droid slumped over momentarily deactivated. “Hurry,” she hissed. “It will reboot soon.”

Cassian nodded. He shoved the dead troopers out of the way and hit the button for the exit door. Isk-Aurek joined him, once more in the hunched, down-trodden posture of the defeated prisoner. He marched her outside, into the dark, rainy mid-morning. 

The Imperial jail building was set back from the street with a small courtyard in front, then another wall and a gate in front of them facing the road. There were more guards by the gate, and a small booth with screens showing views from exterior surveillance cameras. Cassian stopped short, heart sinking. He wasn’t sure how well he could bluff past them, and he couldn’t get into a shootout here. But they were so close - he had to try. 

He grabbed Isk-Aurek by the arm and walked her over to the gate, then knocked against the side of the booth when the man inside didn’t look up from the ‘pad he had in his lap. Distracted, and hopefully doing something he wasn’t supposed to. That was good. 

“Open up,” Cassian growled, trying to sound impatient rather than nervous. 

The man fumbled with his pad, shoving it under the desk, then looked up at Cassian, Isk-Aurek, and back at the building they’d come from. Then - obviously thinking that if he’d been let out of the jail with a prisoner it must be on legitimate business - he hit the gate release. Cassian felt sweat trickle down his spine beneath the loose body-glove as the old mechanism took its time about opening… and then he and Isk-Aurek walked out into the city.

The streets were quiet for the time of day but there were still people wandering here and there about their business. Most took one look at Cassian in his white armour and steered well out of his way. The pair of them walked until they were out of sight of the jail, and then Isk-Aurek took his elbow and pulled him aside into an alleyway. 

“Good work,” she said. 

“Now what,” Cassian asked, looking at her warily. 

“I imagine you want to get off this planet as quickly as possible,” she told him. 

“How do you know I don’t have a bolthole here in the city?”

She snorted. “You don’t. I have my suspicions about you, ‘Sivan Oparr’. I think you have a way off this planet, and I want on it. But if I’m going to pay for it we can’t go just yet.”

Cassian hesitated. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“The Imps were waiting for someone to come and collect me, remember,” Isk-Aurek said. “He’ll be here soon - he’s been trying to track me down for a while. Help me kill him and I’ll get you access to his database. Trust me - Cylo is the kind of man who knows a lot of secrets - secrets that can only help anyone opposed to the Empire.”

Trusting strangers wasn’t smart, Cassian was well aware of that, but she had no reason to turn him in to the Empire and several reasons not to. Even if he and Kaytoo helped her and took her off-planet afterwards there wasn’t anything on their ship that incriminated them as part of the Rebel Alliance. Besides, she had helped him. He wouldn’t have escaped his cell without her. The lure she’d set as part of the bargain didn’t hurt either.

“Okay,” he said. “Follow me.”

\----

Kaytoo had been concerned about his human for the past fourteen hours, six minutes and thirty-seven seconds, ever since Cassian had failed to check in after meeting his contact, as had been the plan. He had attempted to comm Cassian’s lodgings locally, and Cassian himself, both without success. His logic processes could only arrive at the conclusion that Cassian had been either captured or killed by the local garrison but whenever he attempted to contemplate and plan around that possibility some other segment of his programming rejected it and booted it from his system. It was a troublesome glitch and it was not leaving him with many options.

The ship’s comm unit crackled suddenly. Kaytoo swiveled to face it, tuning his audials to filter out static. The voice coming through was familiar and very welcome.

“Kaytoo,” Cassian said. “Kaytoo come in.”

“I am here,” Kaytoo replied. “And you are late.”

Cassian laughed, short and sharp. “Just a little run-in with some stormtroopers,” he said. “No reason to worry. And I made a friend.”

“That seems statistically improbable,” Kaytoo replied, “Given why you came to this planet.”

“We are both coming back to the ship,” Cassian told him, heedless of how he was breaking mission protocol, heedless of any danger. He was usually more careful than this. Therefore the facts of the matter must have changed. Cassian must have information that Kaytoo did not possess and which was not safe enough to be shared over a comm channel. 

“Very well,” Kaytoo replied. The channel went dead. He occupied himself for a time after that carrying out pre-flight checks on their ship and conducting minor maintenance while he waited for Cassian to arrive. It was half an hour by hover-cab from Cassian’s lodgings to the docks, assuming he chose to travel that way. 

In fact it was about twice that span of time before Kaytoo heard the exterior hatch hiss open. He straightened to his full height as Cassian entered, followed by a stranger. The promised ‘friend’. She was a tall humanoid with a number of very obvious cybernetic implants. Kaytoo disliked her immediately, although this was characteristic of his normal operating parameters. 

“This is Isk-Aurek,” Cassian said, gesturing to his companion. “She helped me escape from the bucketheads.”

“So you _were_ captured,” Kaytoo said with disapproval. As he had suspected. He would have words with Cassian about his foolishness in the near future. 

Cassian shrugged dismissively. “I owe her a little favour,” he said. “She thinks we can each help each other.”

“We do not require additional assistance,” Kaytoo said.

The stranger spoke. “I can make it worth your while.”

“I doubt that,” Kaytoo replied, “but apparently Cassian believes differently.”

“Isk-Aurek is being hunted by someone,” Cassian said. “A man who sometimes works for the Empire. She wants our help killing him, and then a lift off-world.”

“Much as I enjoy the slaughter of fleshbags that is not an insignificant request,” Kaytoo said. It was more a complaint than an objection as such. He was well aware that Cassian had already made up his mind, and the human could be aggravatingly stubborn. “Still if it will not interfere with our schedule…” He already knew it wouldn’t. They had planned for a week on this rock to meet the local insurgent contact, but after Cassian had drawn local attention the likelihood of the meeting going ahead was close to nil. They had time, even if he personally felt it would be better served by leaving.

“Good,” Cassian slapped his hand against Kaytoo’s chest in a gesture clearly meant to be comradely. “Let’s get a plan together.”

\----

Cassian panned the scope of his rifle over the landing pad, making sure his lines of vision were good and that he could still see Isk-Aurek in her hiding place. Everything seemed to be set. The glint of sun on metal that was Cylo’s ship descending into atmosphere could just be made out above the scant clouds scudding over the city, which meant it would be only ten or fifteen minutes away from landing. Cassian had wondered if the man wouldn’t come, once he heard of Isk-Aurek’s escape from prison, but Isk-Aurek had assured him that he wanted her back badly enough to turn up anyway. No doubt he was counting on the difficult she would have had leaving the planet, had she not run into Cassian and Kaytoo. 

The Imps had turned out the welcoming party, which was some proof of Isk-Aurek’s claims. Greysuits didn’t turn up for just anyone, especially not ones with that many bars splashed over their chests. Must be the local garrison commander by the look of him, and he looked nervous. He would look even more so when his target’s brains splashed over the duracrete in front of him. Cassian breathed slow and softly, waiting, falling into the calm and quiet place where there was nothing but himself and his target. Even from his elevated position he felt the backdraft from the yacht's exhaust as it settled in to land. The gangway slid open and a man came down the exit ramp. He was a human with dark grey hair, finely dressed, with a half-cape thrown back over one shoulder. He also had cybernetics of his own, Cassian noted with surprise. 

That didn’t matter. Killing him did. As Cylo strode forwards to where the Imps were waiting Cassian lined up his shot, breathed out, and fired. The bolt fried a path through the man’s head, cybernetics and all, and dropped him into a loose pile of limbs sprawled out in front of the shocked Captain. For a moment the scene was still, a gruesome tableau. Then there was movement, but Cassian wasn’t waiting around for the Imperials to react. He was already rolling away from the edge of the roof, folding his rifle and tossing it back into its bag, and sliding down to street level using the line he’d left on the other side of the building. Kaytoo was waiting the street over in a speeder. Isk-Aurek was meant to be using the confusion to make her way on board Cylo’s ship to steal the payment she had promised. They would only know if she was successful when she turned up to hand it over - or failed to. Either way he and Kaytoo would not be remaining for long on Phindar.

\----

“This,” Isk-Aurek said, thrusting the datachip towards him. Cassian took it a little gingerly. He hadn’t missed the flecks of dried blood on her claw-fingers. Her escape had perhaps not been as uneventful as his. 

“What will I find on this?” he asked.

Isk-Aurek grinned wolfishly. “Something better than I’d thought,” she said. “That old fool made me too well. I was able to slice deep into his database and find even the things he’d buried the deepest. Secrets about the highest operatives in the Empire. What do you know about Darth Vader?”

Cassian’s blood ran cold. “He is the Emperor’s Executioner,” he replied. When he’d first signed up with the Rebel Alliance General Draven had given him a briefing about what to expect on his missions. At the end of it he had paused, and flashed up a holo-image of something Cassian had at first thought was a droid. “If you ever see this man,” Draven had said, as serious as he ever got, “do not attempt to finish the mission. Do not attempt to engage this target. Run.”

He had gone on to explain exactly who Darth Vader was, and all of the run-ins the Rebellion had had with him in the past. None of them had gone well. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Isk-Aurek was saying. “I can tell you’ve never been to the Core - they have a rosier opinion of him there. Even put him on the recruitment posters. But then none of them have ever seen the destruction Vader leaves in his wake whenever the Emperor lets him off his leash. They don’t show _that_ on the HoloNews.”

“So Cylo knew something about Vader,” Cassian said, looking down at the unassuming data chip in his palm. “Something secret… Surely you do not imagine we could blackmail someone like that!”

Her smug expression did not change. “Don’t keep pretending to me that you’re a simple smuggler or a thief. I know a dissident when I sniff one out.” She lightly tapped the scarred side of her head. “That’s what half this programming is for, after all. I’ve handed you a weapon and I expect you will find someone willing to use it. 

“Now are you getting me off this rock or not?”

\----

Cassian waited until Isk-Aurek was off their ship before looking at the datachip she had given them. It had been sitting like a live grenade in his pocket for the whole journey around the Salin Corridor to Boonta, where she told them she intended to try and slip into Hutt Space. Plenty of work for someone like her out there, she’s said, and Cassian did not doubt it. He was afraid of exactly what he was going to find. Perhaps this was a poisoned gift. Perhaps using it would cost more than it gained them. Kaytoo thought he was overthinking it, and had made no secret of this fact.

“Finally going back to our real jobs now are we?” Kaytoo asked him, snapping him out of his reverie. The droid’s eyes swivelled down to where Cassian was turning the chip over in his hand. “Are you finally going to check that cyborg hasn’t swindled us? Perhaps if you do it quickly enough we can go and ask for all of our wasted time back.”

“Helping someone in need was not a waste of our time,” Cassian chided him. Making up his mind, he leaned forwards and slid the datachip home in the reader slot of the ship’s dash in front of him. Opening up the files gave him a first impression of a bank of technical documents, blueprints and coding strands. Even starting at the blueprints it took him a little while to make sense of what he was seeing. 

“Kaytoo,” he said, swallowing down nausea. “Tell me I am not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

“Some of the most extensive cybernetics I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing?” Kaytoo replied. “Although perhaps I can understand the desire to shed some of the weaknesses of your fleshy forms.”

“This is… extreme,” Cassian said, transfixed by the blueprints, at a human being carved apart and rebuilt. Why had Vader chosen to do this to himself? The physical power didn’t seem worth the sacrifice of political power that had to have come with it… or did the upper echelons of the Empire not know this? Was that the secret and the weapon Isk-Aurek had meant them to use? 

Next to him Kaytoo’s head tilted, and he gestured to one of the files. “I was not aware that humans could come with restraining bolts.”

Cassian fumbled in his haste to bring up the blueprint the droid had indicated. Once again his sketchy knowledge of human anatomy put him at a disadvantage making sense of what he was seeing. That was the spine, the base of the skull arched above, delicate cables and circuitry tangled down around the lower part of this section… Had that bone been replaced entirely with durasteel? 

“Here,” Kaytoo said, pointing out the tiny Aurebesh text. Cassian skimmed it, then read it again to make sure he was understanding it. It did not change the second time around. The nestled circuity channelled all of the pathways from brain to body, and it could shut off any of those pathways if need be - or all of them. Here was the key to a man’s life. A mechanism of control, a leash, a collar. 

“He must not know of this,” Cassian said softly, mostly to himself. Someone like Vader would not stand for having this piece of slave-tech inside of him. It had to have been installed without his knowledge. Had it ever even been used? Cylo must have been involved in designing and installing the rest of the cybernetics since both Isk-Aurek and his own body had proved his expertise at that. Was this little chip something of his own design, something he had slipped in as a back door if he ever needed it? Or was it something else? Did the Emperor know about it? 

Questions like that were not important. What mattered was that the Rebel Alliance had this information now. It was certainly everything Isk-Aurek had promised - Cassian could feel the weight and potential of what he now unexpectedly carried. 

“We have to get this to Draven,” he told Kaytoo.

“Obviously,” the droid replied. “I must confess to some morbid curiosity as to how this is going to turn out. I cannot imagine it ending well.”

“You should learn to be more optimistic,” Cassian said, laying in a course for Dantooine. “We didn’t go looking for a way to take down the second most powerful man in the galaxy, but now we have it. Sometimes luck does go our way.”

“Luck does not exist,” Kaytoo replied, as Cassian had known he was going to. He listened to the droid launch into his usual lecture about statistical predictions and their anomalies and engaged the hyperdrive. He had a good feeling about this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Operation Dragonfall comes together, Bodhi Rook has a bad day at work, and two Force traditions meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic very much owes a debt of inspiration to [ Black Mirror ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578580) by Darth Nickels regarding the concept of Darth Vader's capture by the Rebel Alliance.

**5 BBY - Dantooine, Dantooine System, Rioballo Sector, Outer Rim Territories**

Naturally Commander Draven had been skeptical. Cassian had not wanted to put too much emphasis on the importance of this intelligence from the start, knowing that the safest attitude of any spy was one of disbelief and that Draven would never trust such a stroke of good luck. Still he watched for the moment in front of the holoprojector when Draven’s face changed and his serious stoic expression cracked into the slightest astonished smile. 

“You understand the importance of this?” Draven said to him. It was not a question. Cassian simply nodded. 

Draven stood looking down at the datachip in his hand. Cassian imagined he was feeling the weight of it in the same way he had. Potential. A lever to move the galaxy, but a great risk as well. Cassian had always been comfortable with risk himself. That too had been part of his life since he was a child on Fest. Death and pain came for all and even power was not enough to protect you from chaos; the Clone War had taken rich and poor alike and it was luck more than any other factor which had offered survival.

Cassian had survived. Not just Fest, but everything that had come after. Every mission he had been sent on, no matter how dangerous Therefore he was lucky. His belief in luck was what allowed him to have hope that the Rebellion could win, that their fight was not futile. Luck had found him that datachip, and luck would help them use it.

“I’ll have to call the council,” Draven was saying. “It may take a little time to arrange. A decision as important as this can’t just fall to me.” He tucked the datachip into the innermost pocket of his jacket. 

“Surely there is only one decision sir,” Cassian said. “I understand it will be risky, that whoever attempts to bring down a man like Vader may very well not come back, but we cannot allow the opportunity to pass us by.”

Draven smiled, the satisfied smirk of someone who had heard the reply he was hoping for. “I agree. Vader must die for us to succeed. There can be no bigger picture than this. That is the argument I’ll be presenting to the council. Get some rest Sergeant Andor. If things go as they ought to, you’ll be needing it.”

\----

It was out of Cassian’s hands, but that didn’t prevent him from itching to act. It felt as though in discovering Vader’s secrets he had become part of something bigger, a great and vast machine moving just out of sight. He felt that if, _when_ , the mission was announced he ought to be a part of it, even though of course they would choose whoever was most suitable. Risking his life was not supposed to be a reward, but in this case at least Cassian felt that it would be - more, that it was one he deserved. 

Kaytoo was irritated with him, in the way he usually was when he was worrying. The droid did not understand what Cassian was feeling, and since there was no logic to it he couldn’t figure it out either. It made him tetchy and impatient, but Cassian had never begrudged Kaytoo that. 

Things could not be made to move any faster by wishing. Draven had emerged eventually from the top-secret holocall with a satisfied air, but had moved after that into the planning stage. His meticulous and thorough nature was part of what made Draven such a good spymaster, along with his innate ruthlessness and will to do what had to be done. Risk would be analysed and minimised. A hundred different tiny variations of his plan would be considered until he arrived at the best option. Cassian had once heard one of his fellow agents joke that Draven had the processor of a T-series tactical droid implanted in his skull instead of a brain. 

Of course when it came to boots on the ground that carefully considered plan could be shot to pieces in moments, but Draven did understand the need for tactical flexibility as well. 

Finally however Cassian was summoned to a meeting. Not alone; there were several other agents there, some of whom he knew and some he didn’t. Draven looked them over with serious, calculating eyes. 

“Some of you may have been aware that we have been working on a mission of extreme importance,” he began by saying. “This has been on the basis of vital information secured by Sergeant Andor, and he is to be commended for that. The primary delay has been in acquiring more information about the current whereabouts of the target, and in identifying an opportunity to act against him.

“I will make no pretense. This mission is highly dangerous. It may even be deadly. Before any discussion of the specifics I must make it clear that I will accept volunteers only. I will then choose a strike team from amongst them. I appreciate it is hard to make that kind of a decision without knowing more, but I cannot be specific for risk of jeopardizing the whole endeavour. 

“So. Who among you will put themselves forwards, knowing that the chances of success may be slim, and the chances of death or capture are high? There is no shame in holding back, and I won’t hold it against any of you.”

Cassian had been waiting; he was the first to speak. “I will do this,” he said. 

Perhaps made bold by his own apparent confidence, several other voices spoke up. Draven nodded to each of them. 

“Thank you all,” he said. “Those who didn’t volunteer are free to go.” There was a few minutes silence as people shuffled out of the room. Cassian saw several looks of curiosity held in check. Then Draven began to speak again. “By necessity our plan requires the team to be a small one. The target is under a great deal of Imperial scrutiny, and the risks of attempting to infiltrate a large team are too great. Sergeant Andor, you will lead the team.”

“Thank you Commander,” Cassian replied, relief and a nervous anticipation mingling in his chest. It was what he’d wanted, but Draven hadn’t been speaking lightly about their chances. 

“Agents Axfow, Tromans and Bendix, you will accompany Sergeant Andor and his droid. Again, in order to maintain operational security, those not named, please leave us.” Again silence. Finally Draven addressed the four of them remaining once more. 

“Welcome all of you to Operation Dragonfall. The target for this mission is Darth Vader.” The others may have all been spies but even their experience didn’t stop the shock from showing on all of their faces. Cassian couldn’t know what they might have suspected, but even their wildest ideas evidently didn’t include that. Draven allowed them a few moments for the news to sink in before continuing. “Other intelligence agents have managed to ascertain Vader’s schedule for the next several weeks. In a fortnight’s time he will be travelling to Jedha, a backwater moon in the Terrabe sector of the Mid-Rim. We have not been able to discover his own aim there, however he is not scheduled to be there for very long. He will be accompanied by a single Star Destroyer, the ISD- _Explorer_. Jedha is too small for well-organised guerrilla resistance; the Imps will have no reason to suspect an attack there. They have begun work on a local garrison but it is not yet complete. Vader is likely to have a small guard with him, but overall this would appear to be the best shot that we have.

“You have the rest of the week to familiarise yourselves with the plan as it stands, and the materials we have been able to gather about Jedha and its capital city. After that you have a week to travel to the planet and set up. Any questions?”

Thea Axfow cleared her throat nervously before speaking. “We’ve all had the benefit of your previous briefings about Darth Vader, Commander Draven. I understand now why you’d call this basically a suicide mission, but there must be something…”

Draven nodded. “Sergeant Andor’s intelligence, yes. I’ll let him explain it more fully, but it is what should give us a chance against Vader.”

Cassian understood that this was his cue. He took a step forwards and began to lay it all out for them. All the important details of this horrific, lucky opportunity that had been laid at their feet.

Everything that would let them strike a powerful blow in the fight to win back the galaxy.

\----

**5 BBY - Jedha, Jedha system, Terrabe sector, Mid-Rim**

The might of the Empire had descended on Jedah. Coming down through atmosphere Darth Vader felt each minute tremble of the Star Destroyer’s deck plating under his feet, transmitted upwards through the durasteel of his cybernetic limbs. The ship was a straining beast breaching the gravity well of the moon. These vessels were not built for elegance but for might and majesty. They were a statement that the Emperor’s power extended even here to the edges of his domain. 

The moon below was a dull brown ball which became no more interesting as they plunged towards it. Vader had no particular wish to be here. The name Jedha had been a faint memory when his Master first spoke of it to him, a place of interest to the dead Jedi Order but not to the man he had once been. He had not cared to question Sidious’ interest, but he had been told of it all the same. That had wakened his memory more. Jedha grew kyber. The Living Force was strong here as it was strong on Ilum, and thus it spun itself into crystal and stone. 

The strength of the Force naturally drew Force-sensitives to it. Species could scratch out a living on Jedha where they could not on Ilum. Sects grew up, the accretions of thousands upon thousands of years, skirting the edges of heresy. It was that as much as the kyber and the power of the Force that kept the attention of the Jedi Order here. Children born on the moon had a higher chance than most of Jedi potential - it would not do to permit them to be raised in one of those lesser traditions. 

Of course the Order had not phrased it in such blunt terms. Vader recalled that much. The traditions of Jedha had been merely misguided and supposedly harmless, monitored but left alone like many of the other Force-sects that littered the galaxy. The Dathomiri witches, for one example. The truth was buried deep in the Temple’s archives. The Order pulled the teeth from the sects by stealing their younglings, bleeding off their potential to fuel the Jedi’s own. 

His Master had spoken of this at some length to him when entrusting him with this mission. Perhaps he felt that Vader’s hate was ebbing, that he had forgotten the ills the Order had done to him and wished to draw the example out in metaphor and simile. Perhaps he merely enjoyed the sound of his own voice. There was never merely one aim to anything that Darth Sidious did, nor was it wise to assume that he had guessed at all of them. In any case he had pressed the proof into Vader’s hands along with further briefing on Jedha; Jedi documents and histories, their own self-serving justifications for their sins. 

Vader’s baleful gaze fell back to the moon below. The edges of the viewport were glowing with a red-gold light, the burn of re-entry. The city that was their destination was beginning to hove into view and with it the desert that surrounded it. Much of Jedha was desert, cold where Tatooine was hot. Another part of his Master’s metaphor, and a punishment for Vader’s current indifference. Sidious was right. His anger was growing cold, fossilising, emptying out into the void of nothingness. Hate could be sustained in a chilly disdain as his Master had long proved, but the true rage of a Sith Lord came harder and harder to Vader’s heart. Even a moon which reminded him so strongly of the planet of his birth could only kindle the embers of it a little. 

His aims were thus. Travel to Jedha. Secure the kyber and the temple. Ensure no Jedi had made the moon their lair. Assess the younglings of the sects for their suitability for the Inquisitorius. Vader intended to carry these out as swiftly as possible so that he could leave this benighted place in the dust. 

\----

“Let’s see what we have on the itinerary today,” Bodhi Rook said to himself as he settled into the pilot’s seat of his shuttle, pulling the datapad out of one of the large, baggy pockets of his uniform. It had been a few months now since he’d been forced to endure the shame of flunking out of the Terrabe Sector Service Academy, and the sting of it still hadn’t worn off. It hurt every morning when he reported for duty and saw the clunky shuttle sitting there instead of a gleaming TIE-fighter. He was going to have to learn to live with it though. There was no appeal, no chance to resit the tests. 

This was it for him now. Bodhi Rook. Shuttle pilot. 

“VIP transportation,” Bodhi noted, reading the update that had been sent to his ‘pad last night. Must be someone from the new Star Destroyer that had showed up yesterday. It had made quite the impression coming in through atmosphere, a red-hot comet moving with glacial speed. 

Bodhi Rook had thought himself lucky to leave Jedha two years ago. He had applied for the Academy to escape the planet, to escape the future of scraping for every credit which was all he had seen ahead of him. He wanted to provide for his mother. He wanted a real life, somewhere out there among the stars. Even after seeing his results and knowing he hadn’t made the grade to become a starfighter pilot Bodhi hadn’t ever expected to come back to Jedha. For years after all the greatest Imperial presence on the moon had been the recruiting booths. Getting his transfer orders had been an unpleasant surprise. 

Something about Jedha had caught the Empire’s interest. He wasn’t sure what. The only thing the moon had to give the galaxy was history and perhaps religion. Neither had ever appealed that much to Bodhi, and both were out of fashion under the rule of the Empire. 

Since transferring here a few weeks ago Bodhi hadn’t had much to do. Occasionally a ship would arrive; mostly light cruisers dropping off a complement of stormtroopers, supplies or other materiél, and he would get them safely to the surface. This Star Destroyer arriving was the first sign that the Empire really meant business. 

He was due on that Destroyer in half an hour. Bodhi ran through pre-flight checks and fired up the shuttle’s engines, lifting her up from the landing pad. Aside from the shuttles there was little air-traffic around NiJedha and his flight-path was uninterrupted all the way up to the vast kilometer long bulk of the Destroyer. Bodhi brought the shuttle in to the hanger bay indicated on his itinerary and settled it down into a gentle landing to wait. It wasn’t long before ranks of stormtroopers were filing in and setting up an honour guard. Not unexpected; the instructions had specified this was an officer of some importance. What was more unexpected was the strange figure that soon appeared at the far end of the hanger. He was dressed all in black, with a full-length cape that fluttered back as the person approached with long strides, wearing some kind of helmet that covered his entire face. As this strange individual drew close enough for Bodhi to begin to make some more of it out he began to wonder if it was a person at all - but it had to be. The honour guard was standing at attention as the figure swept past them; this genuinely was the important Imperial officer he was here to transport. That meant human, even if they weren’t exactly wearing a standard Imperial uniform. 

The figure moved out of view as it neared the shuttle’s gangplank, and Bodhi fumbled for his datapad again, trying to find the officer’s name. Kriff, he was sure he had seen it earlier, but it seemed to have slipped right out of his head. There it was. Darth Vader. A strange title, but one that prickled the edges of his memory. 

Bodhi leapt out of his chair, darted through to the main hold, and snapped to attention as the man himself entered the shuttle. He had to duck his head to fit through the door, Bodhi noticed, still marvelling at his strange appearance. There was a strange noise filling the air. A harsh, rhythmic rumble. Like something breathing. “Darth Vader, sir,” he said, trying to project and air of helpful eagerness. “It’s a pleasure to be your pilot today.” Why did it suddenly feel so cold in here? He had set the atmospheric controls to a comfortable level himself that morning. 

Vader said nothing, eye hidden behind dark lenses taking in the shuttle’s interior. The sound was coming from him. It had to be.

“Uh, are we waiting on your entourage sir?” Bodhi asked hesitantly. Vader’s full attention turned to him, and he felt sweat beading suddenly down the back of his neck. 

“No,” Darth Vader replied, after an uncomfortably long moment of scrutiny. 

“Okay sir,” Bodhi replied, off his balance, and turned back to the cockpit. There was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, and a heavy, irresistible pressure pushing him back against the wall. He froze, not quite sure what was going on. 

“ _I_ will be piloting this shuttle,” Vader said, and swept past. Bodhi just looked at him with no idea what he ought to be doing. If Vader wanted to do this why call for a shuttle pilot at all? On the other hand Vader was the officer here, and Bodhi a mere Ensign. Frankly he could do whatever he wanted, even something as strange as this. As if he wasn’t strange enough already. 

Bodhi took a seat inside the main hold. The shuttle vibrated slightly as they lifted off and out of the hanger, and then Bodhi was slammed back against the wall as the shuttle abruptly accelerated far faster than he’d thought it was even capable of. He grabbed for the seat’s straps that he hadn’t bothered to put on and held on for dear life as Darth Vader treated the poor shuttle like it was a TIE-fighter. 

He just about managed to hold on to his lunch, but it was a near thing. 

This was not turning out to be a very good day.

\----

Cassian’s team had been busy in their week on Jedha. The Imperial presence here had been child’s play compared to what they were used to dealing with, at least until the ISD- _Explorer_ arrived. With Kaytoo’s help they had infiltrated the local garrison - still being established - and downloaded its files. That had given them more clues about what the Empire wanted with the moon. 

Apparently it was all about the kyber crystals. They were plentiful here on Jedha, but as far as Cassian knew they weren’t particularly valuable for all that they were very rare. Their uses were specific and specialized, and none of them seemed that helpful to the Empire. Quite why they cared was still unclear. That didn’t matter though. Vader was here to secure them - knowing that was worth the risk of slicing the files. Another piece of information they could use to get rid of him for good. 

Aside from the kyber caves in the land around NiJedha city, the main concentration of crystals was in the two temples that the city was built around. The people here venerated the kyber because of its supposed connection to the Force. That made Cassian uneasy. It was a holdover from his childhood, something he should have moved past by now. Fest had been a Separatist planet; the Jedi and the Force had been the most frightening powers the enemy possessed. Now of course the Republic had thrown the Jedi away and become the Empire - the Force was a ghost, an almost dead religion that couldn’t hurt anybody. He shouldn’t be scared of it like a youngling who knew no better. 

Still, the kyber was in the temples, which meant that Vader would be going there. That presented them with an opportunity too good to miss. After only a few days on Jedha it had been clear to Cassian that the temples were always full of adherents to these fringe sects, often dressed in the concealing garb of their faiths. What better disguise? What better place and time to strike? 

And so it was that when Darth Vader arrived in NiJedha, the strike team of Operation Dragonfall was waiting in the central thane of the Temple of the Kyber, poised for their target to arrive. 

\----

“Do you feel that?” Chirrut Îmwe asked.

“No,” Baze Malbus said, his reply little more than a grunt. The soft noises of cleaning did not change. Chirrut could sense his partner moving around the small space they shared in a mixture of the brush of air against his face and the soft clicks from the echo-box at his waist. The broom whuffed lightly against the stone floor. 

Yet over all of this, far above, a dark thing was moving. 

The Force chose its occasions to speak to Chirrut. He often listened, rarely heard. Sometimes it shouted loud enough that it could not be mistaken, and this was one of those times. 

“You truly do not feel that?” he asked. 

Hearing the worry in his voice, Baze stopped. His robes rustled as he straightened; the fibres of the broom rustled as they bent under his weight leaning a little upon them. “What are you talking about?”

“Open yourself to the Force,” Chirrut said. “There is a great disturbance.”

“Hmm. That is so specific. Your insight astounds me.”

Chirrut was not in a joking mood. He frowned, concentrating on the sensation that was approaching. There was a sense of it far above them, but descending. At first it had come like clouds blocking out the sun. Warmth shaded into cold. A thunderstorm crackle on the air, pressure bearing down, oppressive. Then he had begun to sense what lay behind the clouds. When he focused upon it it was like holding his hand too close to a fire. The point of sharp sensation that was not hot and was not cold but simply was… It felt like pain. Like poison. He could not stand to be near it too long. 

He could have tried to explain it more to Baze, but the words alone seemed somehow insufficient. He decided to change the subject. 

“What news of the city?” he asked. 

“You assume my ears hear more than yours,” Baze said, returning to his cleaning. 

“I spent yesterday in meditation and prayer,” Chirrut pointed out. 

“And I in the dojo.”

“Do you not talk in the dojo?”

Baze grunted at this, which was an admission that yes, talking was indeed a sanctioned activity. “The Empire again,” he said. “Always the Empire.”

“Have they said yet what it is they want?” Chirrut asked. 

“No. But they have sent a Star Destroyer now.”

Chirrut could not stop his awareness turning upwards again at that comment. Where else could this ill feeling be coming from? There was no such thing as coincidence, only the will of the Force. Was this malevolence the will of the Force, or was it a perversion of it? That he could not tell. All was one in the Force, even the Empire. All that lived, all that breathed. All that died. 

“Are you nearly done?” he asked.

Baze ventured a few last forceful sweeps and put the broom away in the corner of the room with a clatter of wood on stone. “Yes,” he said. 

“I feel an urge to walk this morning,” Chirrut told him, grabbing his staff and rising. “Perhaps we will take a stroll around the temple district and see where the Force guides our feet.” 

“Fine,” Baze sighed. Chirrut could tell he did not mind - his husband merely enjoyed being difficult at times. They were like a pair of spark rocks; if they did not clash there would be nothing interesting to it. Chirrut could be contrary just as well as Baze could, when the mood struck him. This was mostly when he felt the urge to meddle in other people’s business, saying that of course the Force willed it, which Baze could never argue with. 

“I’m bringing my blaster though,” Baze added.

“Let us hope it is not necessary,” Chirrut replied, although he too took his lightbow along with his staff. Baze felt the Force on a level less conscious than he did. His instincts were always good. 

The passageways of the Temple of the Whills were so well-known to Chirrut now after many years that he needed little attention to navigate them. They walked past the rooms of Guardians, past the Third and Fifth Dojos, through the eating hall that was empty now between the rush of morning and noon, and out a side door of the temple into the wan light of the sun. Chirrut turned his face up towards it, appreciating it as best he could. It felt weaker than usual, although during this season clouds were rare in the skies above NiJedha. 

“Where does the Force guide us first?” Baze asked him. 

Chirrut hummed thoughtfully. The thing behind the clouds had touched down within the city. The ripples of its presence tore into the world like the spinning fury of those rare desert tornadoes, all roar and ruin. He had felt one from a distance once; he never wanted to again. If he turned towards it he could taste lightning on the air. The Force was alive, present in a way he had rarely ever experienced. Usually it was an effort to dip deeply enough into the world for the Force to open up around him, and then short-lived at that. This was no effort but rather it was hard to ignore. 

It was also beginning to come their way. 

“Let us walk the stations,” Chirrut suggested. “Although we do not have the time to meditate on them as we should.” The stations marked a circular track around the Temple of the Whills and the Temple of the Kyber, each stop a shrine to a virtue of Balance. Dangling shards of kyber crystal hung around and within each one and Chirrut had spent much time going around the circuit merely to appreciate their gentle music. That music was present as always today, but he believed that even here there was change. There was a new note in the song. A rhythm, a heartbeat, beneath the random sounds of nature. 

“You are right,” Baze said abruptly but quietly, after they had gone perhaps a third of the way around the trail. “Something has changed.”

“What do you see?” Chirrut asked, just as softly. 

“There are more stormtroopers in the streets,” Baze said. “They are watching the temple. They are watching us.”

“Perhaps they have finally realised we are dangerous,” Chirrut said, with a faint smile. Their order was, after all, a martial one. 

“They are also watching the Disciples,” Baze countered. “I think they are waiting for something.” 

They continued to walk. They were not interrupted. Chirrut sensed that there were fewer people than usual on the streets. Even in the weeks since the Empire had turned its attention to Jedha the pilgrims and worshipers had continued to flock to the temple district just as they always had, but not today. There was a taste of fear on the air. His echo-box clicked emptiness to him rather than the heave of bodies passing by. The uneasiness of it was beginning to wear on even Chirrut’s ever-steady nerves. They had almost completed the circuit now, but the Force pulled at him suddenly and he found himself changing course towards the main doors of the Temple of the Kyber. 

The storm and the tempest were close now, but in a way which made it hard to tell direction. At least, that was the case until he stepped inside the Temple. Then he could feel the kyber vibrating. Next to him Baze swore. 

“Even I can feel that,” he said. 

The crystals pointed like iron filings arranged around a magnet. The lodestone of them was within. The air felt suddenly thick, almost hot, hard to breathe. Suddenly a voice addressed them. 

“You there. You’re monks here, that right?” The reverberation told him it was coming from inside a helmet. Stormtrooper. 

“We follow the will of the Force,” Chirrut said in reply. “For the Force is with us and we are one with the Force.”

The stormtrooper made a noise of disgust. “You’re wanted inside,” he said. “All you monks are.”

“Should we be worried?” Chirrut asked. Something about his question seemed to resonate with something the other man was feeling. 

“Sure you kriffing should. It’s Darth Vader that wants to see you.”

The Force was roaring now. The Force and Chirrut’s own heart. He was as well studied as any other Guardian and he knew the title of a Sith when he heard it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader makes his presence known on Jedha and an assassination attempt does not go as planned. All Chirrut Imwe can do is trust in the will of the Force to get him through the day.

**5 BBY - Jedha, Jedha system, Terrabe sector, Mid-Rim**

Vader found he did not have the patience to wait for his shuttle’s pilot to ferry him down to the surface of Jedha. The briefest of brushes against the man’s mind revealed an unexceptional presence, one without any sense of guile, pretense or ill-intent, easily enough disregarded. The man did not try to protest at having his job done for him, which was also wise. Vader wished to be as quick about his own tasks as possible, so as not to spend any more time here than was necessary.

The shuttle touched down on solid ground again at a piece of land which was being cleared to build the new garrison. The framework of the building was already taking shape, as was the tall perimeter wall. Stormtroopers patrolled the site, guarding it from any signs of resistance from the locals, although by all accounts there had been none as yet. A few protests yes but nothing organised and nothing which had resulted in any damage to Imperial life or property. As Vader emerged from the ship the troopers closest all snapped to attention. He gestured to a group of them. 

“Your squad will accompany me into the city,” he ordered, and was at least satisfied with the speed of their response. Soon a small phalanx of white-armoured soldiers had fallen into formation behind him. 

Here on the moon itself Vader did not have to expend any kind of effort to sense the abnormalities in the Force that were present. The Dark Side was near to him as it always was, wrapped as closely as his own cloak around his shoulders, but beyond it he could feel patterns, odd harmonies, a crystalline structure to the world which echoed above and below the dusty sand, rock and scant soil. There were spirals and fractals. There was a sense of yearning, of glacial movement measured in millenia. The Force flowed in sharp straight lines or mathematical curves from kyber to kyber and bent the whole shape of reality around them. 

There was an intersection in the patterns a short distance away. The temples were there. Kyber sang, pulling at his attention. He could have found his way to his goal with eyes closed. 

NiJedha was thronging with life, but most of it was wise enough to stay well away as Vader made his way through the winding streets. The chaotic nature of the pathways was clearly the result of gradual growth over many years rather than orderly town planning, but with the kyber as his guide Vader had no need to seek assistance from his stormtrooper escort for all that they knew the city better. The locals watched from windows and doorways where they were bold enough, paused in their paths to press back against the walls of buildings and let them through. From time to time they passed figures in long red robes, often masked, who reminded Vader uncomfortably of his Master’s Imperial Guard. They were adherents to one of the local sects, but he sensed nothing from them through the Force save curiosity and fear. 

Ahead at the northernmost part of the city loomed a tall pillar of a building with sloping sides, divided down the centre axis by a deep vertical trench. This was the Temple of the Kyber, and the lesser building sat next to it just visible over the rooftops was the Temple of the Whills. His sense of the Force was concentrated here, both the Dark and the Light. That in itself was unusual. In his experience attempting to wipe the remnants of the Jedi from the galaxy Vader had been to many temples on many planets. The Jedi chose places strong in the Light to build their dwellings and places of worship, as the Sith had their own thanes where the Dark held sway. The uneasy tension, the push and pull of this place, was not what he had been expecting. There were patterns of Light, patterns of Dark, and patterns that seemed... less easy to categorise. 

The vague spark of curiosity did not catch well in Vader’s heart. He observed, then disregarded. It was not why he was here, it did not concern him. He pushed on to the doors of the temple, two vast pieces of metal cast with geometric designs, and found them standing open. There was a slow but continuous stream of people moving in and out of the temple, albeit one that scattered like wary birds as he approached. 

Within the temple the patterns of the kyber were much stronger, almost physical things beneath Vader’s senses. He followed their call to the centre in an almost meditative daze, passing through several hallways where crystals stood like statues against the walls or hung from the arching ceiling above tinkling in the sourceless breeze. He emerged into a large central hall. At the far end was a single massive kyber stretching the twenty foot height of the wall. A pale white light shone from it, illuminating the faces of worshipers knelt below. 

For a moment Vader felt only the Force. The Dark surged within and around him, slowly pulling the patterns into a new configuration. Then his mind and his purpose came slowly back to him. He pulled his gaze from the crystal and looked at the watching crowd who had stopped whatever they were doing at his entrance and were now simply waiting. 

“Citizens of the Empire,” he said, addressing them all, “by order of the Empire this temple is to be closed.” A low roll of worry and concern passed into the Force, but no-one here spoke. Their fear was too great. Sensible of them. Vader continued; “Your faith itself has not been outlawed. Worship elsewhere. This place is now forbidden.”

At his signal the squad of stormtroopers began to move through the crowd, pulling people to their feet and ushering them out. For the most part they were obedient to the commands, although in the Force their emotions spoke differently. No few wanted him dead. This did not matter to him - none of them had the power. Some individuals the stormtroopers indicated should remain - those who wore the garb of monks and priests rather than of pilgrims and townsfolk. Vader had further words for them. 

“Search the building,” he ordered the Sergeant. “Bring those you find here.”

In this room alone he sensed no strong individual presence in the Force. A Jedi would not be able to hide from him so close, although an untrained sensitive could often be difficult to identify irrespective of their strength and potential. His aim was merely to make sure no Jedi had gone to ground amidst the ranks of the sects. In the days to come the troopers would be going house to house to collect blood samples from the inhabitants of the city - if any had midichlorian counts high enough to suggest they could be of use to the Inquisitorius they would be found. It was a more efficient use of time, and of resources.

The Force within the temple calmed as the process of selection was carried out. The patterns were shifting again, each member of a sect a point within their fractals. Yet all of it was anchored here to this great crystal - and now to Vader himself as his mere presence made of him the centre. 

This was as it should be. Was he not the Chosen One? Was he not here to carry on his duty of Balance, scouring the corrupted Light of the Jedi clean? 

The steady trickle of sentients entering the thane had slowed and stopped. Many wary eyes watched him, but there was no gathering of strength in the Force, no locus of energy Light or otherwise. The stormtrooper Sergeant returned to his side. 

“That seems to be the lot of them Lord Vader,” the man said. 

Vader inclined his head, and modulated his vocoder’s volume to address the crowd. “Who among you is the head of the Guardians?” More than one faith and cult was represented here he knew, but the Guardians of the Whills were the largest and held most influence. Their ancient connections with the Jedi Order were the strongest as well. The most obvious place for a fugitive to seek aid.

Heads turned and eyes darted around the room, but there was no focus upon one individual which would have given him the answer without words. One twi’lek woman near the front was bold enough to speak up. 

“We are not Jedi,” she said. “We are not Sith. We follow the guidance of the Force, not that of any one person.”

Vader had little patience to be tugged around by semantics. “That may serve you well in matters of philosophy,” he said. “What of matters of the world? Or do you dwell in chaos, with none attending to provisions, to the upkeep of the building, to the very clothes you wear?”

As he spoke he noticed two new figures entering at the back of the room, falling into the unfolding of the pattern. Even from here he could see the milk-blue eyes of the shorter one, clouded over in blindness. The other was taller, broader, his expression set in a fell glower. Both wore the robes of Guardians. In the Force they were two points circling each other, a binary system within this constellation rather than stars that stood alone. There was something about the blind one. A quiet calm and sense of poise that in manner was all too familiar. Yet he did not feel like a Jedi. 

He had caught the tail end of Vader’s words; there was intent in his mind as he picked his way through the crowd and approached, followed by his companion like a shadow. He seemed to find his way well enough despite the many obstacles that lay in his path. 

“The Force guides in all things, no matter how small,” the man said once he had reached the front of the crowd. “Although sometimes many minds are needed to establish its will. At times I have been part of the council making those decisions, although I would not assume to speak for my fellow Guardians now.”

“I care very little for your wishes,” Vader replied. “I am here hunting Jedi.”

“Jedi?” the man asked, the small smile that crossed his face not hiding the fear at the heart of him. Simple fear of Vader, or was there something he was trying to hide? “It had been many years since a Jedi came to Jedha, even before the Empire.”

“It is a poor idea to hide anything from me,” Vader cautioned. “If there is any trace of the Jedi or their ideology to be found on this moon I _will_ find it.”

Something whispered in the Force. Vader turned his head to see the stormtrooper stationed at the left of the room was holding his hand up, barring the way to one of the local pilgrims who did not appear to have received his message. The intent to violence burned into the Dark Side, but how the trooper chose to manage the situation was not his concern. He looked away, dismissive. There was the sound of a blaster firing. 

The whisper of the Force became a shout. The Dark demanded and he obeyed its warning instinctively. 

It was already too late.

\----

Cassian had sworn heavily under his breath when the stormtroopers began ushering them out of the room. His strike team had come dressed the part of simple worshippers assuming they would have more time than this to get into position. He had imagined some long self-serving speech from Vader because that was what all Imperial authorities did when given half the chance, not to be chivied out after a bland, simple statement. He thought about signalling for them to go then and there, but the positioning was bad. They had to be in place to take out Vader’s guards first and then whoever was closest could dart in to activate the short-range signal to the control chip in Vader’s spine. 

He let himself be guided out. It wasn’t time yet, and they would have other opportunities. Perhaps when Vader was on his way out of the temple? 

The comm in his ear crackled. “Cassian, what do we do now?”

“Regroup outside the temple,” Cassian replied under his breath. That was where all the worshipers were moving in any case, and he had no time to consider any other options before he was back outside in the wan sunlight, chilly air against his cheeks despite the warm robe and hood. He ducked away, simply part of the dispersing crowd, heading into an alleyway that curved around to one of the temple’s side doors. They had had several days to scope out the entire area, fix a map of the streets and buildings in his mind. 

“Will you be needing my assistance after all?” Kaytoo asked over the encrypted channel. 

“No, not yet Kay,” Cassian said. 

“I’m coming anyway,” Kaytoo replied. “I think you’re overestimating your organic abilities.” 

Cassian swore but the droid wasn’t answering him back. Kaytoo wasn’t far away, hidden in the one-room apartment they’d been renting for their week here under false names. Cassian couldn’t stop him from doing what he wanted, so he would have to include him in the plan after all. 

The others were waiting for him at the rendezvous point. “What now?” Thea asked. “Do we try and get back in?”

Cassian had been considering this. Kaytoo would attract too much attention out here in the streets, but his presence might be enough to fool the stormtroopers in the temple for the brief minutes long enough to catch them off guard. “Yes,” he said. “Kaytoo will be here soon; I will have him approach the side door as though he’s come to deliver a message. Then we can kill the trooper he has distracted and sneak back inside. If the troopers are patrolling then we will have to take them out as silently as possible. If they are still together in the central hall with Vader, we can get the lay of the land and re-evaluate.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to go in there guns blazing after all,” Arvin Bendix remarked, with a fierce grin. 

“Perhaps,” Cassian said, although hoping it would not come to that, and then swung around at the sound of clanking feet approaching. Kaytoo came around the corner into the alleyway, his optics giving them a brief once-over. 

“Hmm,” the droid said. “All still alive I see.”

Kaytoo seemed to approve of the plan once Cassian explained it to him. He led the way towards the side of the temple with the strike team holding back about twenty feet behind him, the tall stone wall rising blank and unbroken before them. Cassian motioned for everyone to hold back as Kay walked out into the open space of the comparatively wide street before the tall door, set into its own pillared recess. There was a stormtrooper there, as they had thought. He or perhaps she was plastering a large poster onto the door itself, and there was already a string of black and yellow Imperial no-entry tape down both pilasters. They turned at the sound of Kaytoo’s approach. 

“What do you want droid?” the trooper said. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Cassian motioned to Crix Tromans to circle around; Crix left the alley moving at a slow enough pace that he didn’t draw the stormtrooper’s attention away from the argument they were now having with Kaytoo. He went a little way up the street then doubled back, approaching from the rear well out of sight. As he got close enough Cassian saw him draw the wicked little vibroblade out of his sleeve and jam it into the stormtroopers spine. The white-armoured figure went limp, and Kaytoo helped to catch the body before it went down in a clatter of plasteel. 

With a nod, the rest of the strike team were moving at a controlled run for the door. Kaytoo had it open for them, following them inside with the corpse draped carelessly over his arm. Cassian sized the body up with a professional eye. “Thea, about your size,” he suggested. Soon the body was stripped and they were three civilians, one stormtrooper and one Imperial droid. That was progress. 

Inside the temple there was little sign of movement, at least none nearby. They made their way back through eerily deserted corridors and passageways until they were very close to the central hall. On a previous visit Arvin had noted a walkway on an upper floor with windows that looked out and down into the main space, and it seemed the Imps either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t thought to put a guard on the stairs up to it. Cassian led the rest of the team up there and paused to take in the scene. Vader was standing at the head of the room and a small crowd of monks and members of the various local sects were gathered before him. As they watched a few more Guardians were brought in by stormtroopers. 

“Why do you suppose they’re gathering them up?” Arvin whispered. 

“Just one more massacre?” Crix said, his voice a low growl. “I’d believe it of Vader.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cassian told them, his eyes taking in every detail of the room. “We aren’t going to let it get to that point.” He pointed to the various ways in and out of the temple hall. “Arvin, stay up here. You’ll be our sniper. Crix, circle to the far side and take out those troopers. Thea, the south entrance. I’ll come in from below here.”

“And what about me?” Kaytoo asked, louder than Cassian would have liked. 

“You stay well away,” he ordered. “Make sure there’s no reinforcements coming.”

“Fine.”

Cassian left them to their roles, trusting in their competence and will to do what was necessary. He made his way back down the stairs a little way after Crix and Thea to the corridor below, then ducked his head under the hood he was wearing and folded his hands in front of him so that his species could not be easily made out. Then he strolled at a casual pace towards the stormtrooper who was standing in the doorway facing out into the room. The Imp heard his footsteps and turned towards him. The blaster they were holding came up only a little and Cassian marked them down in his head for carelessness. 

“You can’t be here,” the stormtrooper told him, holding a hand out to stop him. “Didn’t you see the signs on the door?”

“Sir I do not understand,” Cassian said, playing at ignorance while still moving gradually closer. “I have just come to pray.” Over the trooper’s shoulder he could see the black silhouette of Vader against the white glow of the crystal behind him. 

“The temple is closed.” The Imp was still trying to wave him off. Cassian was close enough now. He drew his pistol from inside the sleeve of his outer robe, took the last quick step forwards and shot the stormtrooper in the unarmoured space beneath their arm. The bolt sizzled through the black bodyglove, through skin and muscle, lungs and heart, stopping just short of penetrating through to the other side. There was a wet cough and the Imp collapsed. 

“Now,” Cassian said over the comlink. 

There were more blaster shots - Arvin’s rifle sent bolts scudding down to drill holes in the stormtroopers at various points around the room and from the noise Crix and Thea had made it into their positions too. There were gasps, yelps and screams from the crowd of monks in the room, although not as many as Cassian might have expected from civilians. As he ran forward he could see that a couple of them even seemed to have taken the opportunity to mount their own attack on the bucketheads. 

Vader was not standing idly by. His head had snapped towards the overhead walkway at the first few shots and his arm came up as Cassian moved. A massive kyber rose out of its socket by the wall into the air - Cassian gaped at it and nearly stopped in his tracks. It picked up speed as it moved and slammed into the balustrade of the walkway with a crunch of breaking stone. Had Arvin seen it coming? Had he managed to get out of its way? Had Kaytoo?

He couldn't be distracted. Dressed as he was he stood out too much from the Guardians around him - if Vader noticed him before he got close enough… 

But he wasn’t the first one there. Thea was - and Vader saw her coming. As her hand fastened around the transmitter something small and cylindrical darted from Vader’s belt into his hand and then a beam of red light was extending from his outstretched arm - and through Thea’s chest. Cassian watched the light leaving her eyes and bit back a cry. Crix was less controlled. Cassian heard his voice, a shout of mindless rage, and saw the blaster bolt crackling through the air. The red blade batted it back with an almost leisurely ease. No more shots came. 

Vader’s attention was not on him. Cassian had not stopped moving. Despite everything he had just seen, he had kept on pushing through the crowd, this heaving mass of chaos and confusion. He had dropped his pistol somewhere but he didn’t need it. The transmitter was in his other hand, his fingers were compulsively activating it over and over again. The moment he was within range… 

Vader was turning towards him. The dark red lenses of his helmet met Cassian’s eyes. It was so cold - but wasn’t just the fear making him shudder? He pressed the transmitter again. Vader took a step towards him… and then his legs seemed to buckle underneath him. 

Vader fell to his knees. The red beam of light disappeared; the cylinder of dark metal rolled out of his hand across the floor. The heavy rhythmic sound which had echoed through the room up until this point stopped, and then he collapsed forward even more. When he hit the stone floor on his side it was with a loud, almost metallic thump. Cassian stood there, his knuckles white around the transmitter, barely able to believe it. 

There was an empty space around them both, wide and getting wider. Cassian looked around wildly to see several slumped bodies of unmoving stormtroopers, and several of the Guardians of the Whills guiding their fellows and other sect members out at a near run. They were probably right. This was not going to be a good place to be soon enough, and it would be best for all of these people if they could claim they had been nowhere near here. 

“What… have you done?”

Cassian whirled back around to stare at Vader. It had unmistakably been his voice. “Why are you not dead?” he demanded, too much adrenaline still pumping through his veins counteracting the fear - counteracting any other emotion besides. 

Vader’s fingers were twitching inside his gloves and his chest was rising and falling but in unhealthy, heaving jerks. He should not have been able to do even that much. The signal Cassian had just sent out should have shut off everything below the neck. He should be suffocating right now, dying slowly, not hanging on to life. 

“I… will not die… like _this_.”

Cassian looked around for another weapon to replace his pistol, something to deal the final blow. He could see nothing near enough. 

A hand landed on his shoulder and he spun around to see one of the Guardians behind him - he was truly distracted if he hadn’t noticed the man approaching. The monk’s eyes were clouded over and he wasn’t looking directly at Cassian, yet something suggested he knew exactly where everything around him was. 

“Peace,” the monk said, smiling even though everything else in his body was tense. “The Sith is unfortunately right. This is not the Will of the Force.”

\----

Chirrut was afraid. He did not let it affect him. Fear could be misplaced, but in a situation like this is was wisdom. Neither he nor Baze could heed its warning and stay clear of the danger though, which left only bearing it. Chirrut breathed through his fear, and kept a smile on his face. Next to him he heard cloth shift and flip lightly through the air. Baze was hiding away his blaster. The stormtrooper must not have seen it. The lightbow over Chirrut’s back could not be concealed so easily, but it was an uncommon weapon and most off-worlders did not know what it was. 

The stormcloud and distant inferno of the Sith inside the temple was pulling them towards him, as he pulled everything else. Chirrut did not know if it was intentional. He had met Jedi when he was younger; they had been quiet, blank stillness. He had never met Sith. He could make no comparison from one to the other. 

His feet followed the path into the temple even when his mind was fixed on other things. Baze followed behind, his very closeness a comforting warmth. His heart was singing protection, but both of them knew how little that would matter if this Darth Vader wanted them dead. 

_Is this what you want for us?_ Chirrut asked the Force. _Are we to become truly one with you today?_

He sensed there was a crowd in the central hall when they reached it, but one that was quiet and which made the air sharp with fear. Something was breathing loud enough to echo from the walls, deep and measured rasps unlike that of any sentient Chirrut knew. Darkness hung over the world. It prickled over Chirrut’s skin like needles, like a creature scenting blood. In the Living Force there was both life and death, predator and prey, birth and rebirth to grow anew. That was something he understood. He did not understand this. 

There was a hole in reality at the centre of the world’s pattern. It was an emptiness sucking everything in. It was despair. It was anguish. It was an utter lack of hope. Before it Chirrut himself felt useless and without purpose. 

It was also speaking. 

The Sith wanted someone to speak for the Guardians. Perhaps it was the pull of his presence, but Chirrut found himself making his way through the crowd towards him almost against his will. 

“What are you doing?” Baze hissed, but he wasn’t about to leave Chirrut to this latest foolishness. He kept close behind as the echo-box at Chirrut’s waist clicked and whirred and illuminated the way forwards. 

“The Force guides in all things, no matter how small,” Chirrut said, to answer the Sith’s question. The Force calmed a little as he spoke, but turning the attention of the empty storm towards himself was no comfort at all. “Although sometimes many minds are needed to establish its will. At times I have been part of the council making those decisions, although I would not assume to speak for my fellow Guardians now.” 

It was not a lie, but the councils the Guardians held were never as important as calling them that made them sound. Their money came from donations - less every year now - and it was part of their duties to keep the Temples clean and in good repair. They grew much of their own food and wanted for little. Devotion to the Force demanded a certain simplicity after all. 

“I care very little for your wishes,” Vader said. The Sith’s voice was a deep baritone rumble, and there was a dull hate in every syllable. “I am here hunting Jedi.”

That was true Chirrut could tell, but it was not all of the truth. How could he accuse a Sith Lord of lying? He had always been a curious man, but curiosity could not defeat the caution of fear. He wet his dry lips, did his best to smile, and said, “Jedi? It had been many years since a Jedi came to Jedha, even before the Empire.” 

“It is a poor idea to hide anything from me,” Vader cautioned. “If there is any trace of the Jedi or their ideology to be found on this moon I _will_ find it.”

Chirrut supposed he should not be surprised that a Sith was looking for traces of Jedi. The legends of their great galaxy-spanning wars in ages past had not been forgotten. The Guardians had always tried their best to stay out of such conflicts. Of course it was not always so easy. He opened his mouth to say something to placate Vader, to welcome his scrutiny and assure him there was nothing to be found, but…

The high-pitched whine of blaster bolts battered his ears as above and to the left someone with a rifle began to fire. The Force rippled as the tension of waiting for something terrible to happen became the panic when it actually did. Chirrut felt his perception of the world buck and unbalance around him and he might have stumbled in stunned confusion if Baze hadn’t caught him by the arm and steadied him. 

Feet were stampeding against stone. Many bodies were moving. Pools of violence shuddered as some Guardians - trained in the arts of combat as they were - began to fight back. The air was heavy with murderous intent, and none stronger than that surrounding Darth Vader, billowing from him like black, leathery wings beating a wind into a whirlwind. 

“We should leave,” Baze said to him, only just loud enough to be heard amongst all the other noise. Chirrut shook his head. His first instinct was to get far away from a bad situation turning worse, but something was telling him to stay. An anchor in the Force. Baze growled. “Fine. We shall both stay and be killed.”

The room was clearing. It was difficult for Chirrut to establish exactly what was going on, but the only people who still seemed to be alive and moving were Vader, Chirrut and Baze, and a stranger. The Force itself was chaos, shattered, screaming. It wanted something from him, Chirrut could feel that, but what? 

There was a loud, heavy thump and Baze swore loudly. His hand still gripped Chirrut’s arm, and by the scent of metal and oil he had pulled his blaster from beneath his robes and was pointing it at the Sith over Chirrut’s shoulder. Or perhaps at the stranger, mere feet away from Vader now. Chirrut could hear the stranger’s breathing, loud from exertion… but he couldn’t hear the other breathing anymore. At some point in the confusion, that heavy rasp had disappeared. 

Vader’s dark presence swirled. Thunder crashed, but not for ordinary senses to hear. Hate like sucking quicksand, rage, struggle, the will to fight… It was all Chirrut could do not to be swept up in it. It was difficult to centre himself.

“What… have you done?” the Sith demanded. Chirrut’s senses cleared a little; he was able to make out that Vader was down, lying still and unmoving on the floor. The echobox clicked and what it spat back did not change. He heard the man’s voice, stuttered weak breathing, but no other movement. Yes, what had this stranger done? 

“Why are you not dead?” the stranger asked in reply. 

Anger cracked in the Force like a whip. “I… will not die… like _this_.”

The Force sang with that. Not merely the Dark which had so taken over Chirrut’s sense of things, but the Living Force as well. It seemed so strange to him that at first he did not believe it, but he had spent so long straining to hear even the smallest whisper of the Force that he could not deny its shouts now. The stranger was casting about for a weapon with his intent clear and sharp in the Force. Chirrut knew why it had been necessary to stay, to come forward and approach the Sith at all. 

“Peace,” he told the stranger, moving closer to better get his attention. “The Sith is unfortunately right. This is not the Will of the Force.”

“What are you talking about?” the stranger demanded. Chirrut could read much in the tones and stresses of his voice. Fear, sorrow, a steady determination… The Force moved around him, but only in the way it moved through everything that was a part of the world and no more. It spoke of a bold heart for an ordinary man to try to assassinate a Sith. 

“Just what I said,” Chirrut told him. “It is not his time to die.” 

“Do you know who this _is_?” the other man demanded. In the movement of air and the rub of cloth Chirrut perceived the impassioned gesture he was making in Vader’s direction. “What he has done? There is no possible good that could outweigh the suffering he has caused.”

His words mirrored Chirrut’s own doubts, but he trusted more than anything the will of the Force. The Force had no past and no future. It was all the world that had ever been and all that would be until the final entropy and the end of the chaos of life. It was the souls and energy of every living thing striving. It was not a god to be petitioned, but the Guardians believed that by its very nature it would always move towards a version of events that aided the life that it was. 

The Sith did not believe the Force had a will, but that the Force should bend itself to their own desires. There was both light and dark in the Living Force, and the Guardians acknowledged that, but the Dark Side the Sith used was something else. It was a corruption of all natural passions and urges, a foulness fed with unnatural death cut short before its time. So why did the Living Force offer this one mercy? What possible purpose could Darth Vader have that would save and guard life rather than seek to end it?

Chirrut had waited too long to answer. Perhaps he had no good answer. The stranger made a move for something on the floor nearby - some discarded weapon. 

Vader had not been using his time idly. The roiling, heaving Dark leapt out and struck. The stranger stopped in his paces choking. Thick, oily tendrils reached out from Vader’s barely clawed fingers to his neck in a tight grip. 

“Let him go Sith,” Baze demanded. “I do not need to kill you to make you regret ever coming to Jedha.”

Darth Vader ignored him. No doubt he could tell, as Chirrut could, that Baze was bluffing. Although his husband’s faith in the guidance of the Force had begun to wane in recent years, his trust in Chirrut never had. It would be hard to stop a Sith without dealing death. Vader must sense his lack of sincerity. 

The stranger was doing something - small scale movements of hands that Chirrut could not make out. The Dark Side shuddered around them all as Vader shunted a sudden flux of pain into it, though he made no sign or sound of being hurt. The stranger kept trying whatever he was doing despite his desperation, and then the Force flattened as the energy and intent of the Sith drained out of it. As far as Chirrut could tell, Vader had lost consciousness. 

The harsh steady rumble of breathing began once again, although hitching and hesitant as it had not been before.

When the stranger spoke again his voice was rough and hoarse. “Is that enough for you? Do you see now how dangerous he is?”

Chirrut nodded in acknowledgement. “And yet it is not the will of the Force,” he said. He could have no other answer The truth had not changed. 

“What else would you have me do?” the man asked in clear frustration. “Let him go? After this he’ll kill every one of you - Guardians, Disciples, _everyone_.”

“There are never only two choices.”

“Not true,” Baze said. His boots were light taps against stone as he walked to stand over the fallen Sith. “Not always. But maybe true in this case.”

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to help or not,” Chirrut said dryly. 

“Capture,” Baze said. “I am sure this insurgent has questions he wants answered.”

For a long moment the stranger was struck silent. Then he said, “I am not sure any prison would hold him.”

“You seem to be holding him well enough at the moment,” Chirrut pointed out. He made a decision. “My husband and I will help you.”

“Always speaking on my behalf,” Baze said, but with an undercurrent of amusement. 

“I’m not even certain of what I did to put him out,” the stranger objected, but he did not have the same conviction. He was coming around to the idea. 

A memory surfaced. Chirrut tapped his staff against the ground once, twice as he thought. “There is something stored here in the temple that may be of some use,” he said. “Can you keep Darth Vader unconscious for long?”

The stranger’s laugh was disbelieving, half-hysterical. “I have no idea,” he said. “Today has stopped making any sense to me.”

Chirrut nodded, and turned to fetch the items he was thinking of. Baze turned to go with him and the stranger called out. 

“Wait, please. One of you… there was a droid with me. He was waiting up there.” He pointed. It was not enough for Chirrut to go off of, but Baze would have no such difficulties. “Can you check if he’s okay?” 

Baze grunted acknowledgement and headed towards the other side of the hall. Chirrut left the room at a brisk walk, as fast as he dared. He hoped he had read the Force’s intent correctly. The alternative was not pleasant to consider.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Force continues to move in mysterious ways. Cassian has a prisoner to transport, and a very strange situation to explain to Draven when they reach Dantooine.

**5 BBY - Jedha, Jedha system, Terrabe sector, Mid-Rim**

Kaytoo’s photoreceptors were offline. He had to try several hard resets before he managed to get them functioning again. The image produced was fuzzy and marred by a crack down the length of his right photoreceptor, but it showed a view of the temple ceiling and air that was thick with dust. Kay sat up. The movement was smooth and fluid; no damage to those motivators at least. He had been lying on the floor in the small upstairs hallway overlooking the main hall, and the pings of minor error messages from several components of his spinal struts and the power unit on his back indicated some kind of impact to those areas. A brief visual scan revealed a crater in the wall behind him which had significantly damaged the painted fresco, as well as a large piece of kyber crystal now lodged in the stonework where the balustrade had previously been. 

There was a smear of red blood pooling from beneath the part of the kyber jutting out into the hallway and nearly blocking it off. Kay spent several microseconds in analysis. Agent Arvin was deceased with 99.99% certainty. 

That was unfortunate.

Kaytoo levered himself to his feet. He was covered in dust from the fractured and partially crushed stone, but although the impact of the crystal must have thrown him into the wall he had not suffered from any kind of critical damage. He was functional. The question remained whether the same was true of the rest of the strike team. Calculated likelihood of Cassian’s survival attempted to load itself into his forward consciousness but he looped it back to unconscious processing. This was no time to become distracted. 

Kay took the stairs down to the hall and was met by a man coming up. He wore the robes characteristic of the local sect; the Guardians of the Whills. He was also holding a heavy blaster across his chest. He halted when he saw Kaytoo, but refrained from making any threatening moves, for which Kay was thankful. Since Cassian had reprogrammed him his combat protocols could be finicky, particularly in situations were allegiances were not clear. 

“Are you with these insurgents?” the man asked him. 

Kaytoo cocked his head as he processed. He found mimicking humanoid body language often helped to put others at ease, even potential enemies. Which side was this Guardian on? Presumably not that of the Empire who had attempted to meddle in his religion, but it did not necessarily follow that he would be sympathetic to the Rebel Alliance. His central processor weighted pros and cons. 

“I am,” he said cautiously, after several long seconds. 

“Follow me,” the man said, with a jerk of his head. “Your friend is downstairs.”

It could be a ruse but it seemed unlikely anyone would bother simply for a droid. Kay nodded and followed the Guardian. The man led him to the temple hall and Kay felt the sudden relief of seeing Cassian standing there alive. The gnawing speculation circulating around his processor terminated. 

“Kay!” Cassian said, looking relieved as well. His body tensed for a moment as though he was going to run over, but then his gaze dropped to something on the ground and he remained where he was. Curious. There were many bodies around, both stormtroopers and locals. “You’re not hurt are you?” 

“I am functioning within 80% of optimum parameters,” Kay replied, rounding up for the human’s sake. He strode over, his long limbs allowing him to step over the scattered corpses with ease. “Was the mission successful?” He was close enough now to see a large black shape collapsed near Cassian. Darth Vader. Yet Cassian had not left, and his audials were picking up the heavy rasp of ventilator-driven breathing. 

Cassian’s expression was wild - stress and uncertainty, Kay identified. “Something like it,” he replied. 

“The others?”

Cassian shook his head. Kay did not regret the deaths of the other operatives directly, but he regretted the effect it was having on Cassian. 

“Are we waiting for something?” Kay asked, looking around. As he spoke there was a clatter and a thud, and then another human male appeared on the far side of the hall. He appeared to be attempting to maneuver a repuslorlift cargo-sled through the doorway and was not having much success with this ostensibly simple task. 

The taller, stockier Guardian looked briefly towards the ceiling, then set off across the room at a jog. “Where did you get that?” he asked the other. 

This new figure looked up from his task, grinning. “In the storage rooms,” he replied. “Perfect, don’t you think?”

“Give me that.” The stocky one took the sled from the other, slid it through the door without difficulty, and brought it over. As the pair drew near Kaytoo’s damaged photoreceptors picked up the blue glaze over the shorter one’s eyes. It would seem he was blind, although he moved with great assurance despite it. 

“I don’t think your group is based on Jedha,” the blind man said. “We would know of you otherwise. How were you planning to leave if your original plan had been successful?”

Cassian started to answer which was uncharacteristically trusting. Kay put an arm out in front of his face to get his attention and make him stop speaking. If his photoreceptors had been able to narrow in the human gesture of suspicion he would have done so, but instead he had to make do with leaning forward slightly in a threatening manner. 

“You seem to be making a lot of assumptions,” he said. “Who are you? Why should we trust you?”

“It’s alright Kay,” Cassian said, sounding very tired. He put a hand on Kay’s arm. 

“No, your droid is right,” the blind Guardian said, stooping to pick a long staff off the bed of the sled. “Trust is hard to come by in this day and age. The Force has called us together, and we should know at least that much about each other. I am Chirrut Îmwe, and this is my husband Baze Malbus. Yourselves?”

Kaytoo was not much mollified by their answer, but Cassian spoke before he could object again. “My name is Cassian Andor, and this is Kaytoo. To answer your question, we didn’t have a specific plan for getting off-world. After Vader’s death the planet would have been in lockdown by the time we got to our ship, so we were going to lie low in the desert until at least the Imperial traffic started up again. We can mimic an Imperial transponder.”

“That would not be a good idea now, under the circumstances,” Chirrut said, looking down at the still-unconscious form of Vader. 

“How current are your codes?” Baze asked. 

“We’re wasting too much time here,” Cassian said. He was nervous in a way Kay rarely saw from him. Twitching and anxious. He was usually calm despite the frequent pressure of spywork. “I don’t know how long Vader or these stormtroopers were meant to be here but someone is going to wonder what is taking them so long eventually.”

Kay’s tactical processor had already begun to work on the problem. “At the moment no-one knows that anything has happened,” he said. “We have a window to work with. We landed our ship out in the desert and as Cassian said we will not be able to reach it before that window closes. That leaves only the option of taking one of the Imperial shuttles.” Since the arrival of the Empire in force it had been impossible for any civilians to land within the city walls. Little enough space as there was, and the Imperials had already demolished a number of buildings to widen the limited landing zones for themselves. 

Chirrut Îmwe nodded. “As you say, it appears the only option. I feel it is the right one.”

“We will need disguises,” Baze said, then gestured to the several dead stormtroopers arrayed around the room. His meaning was clear.

“Kay,” Cassian said, “help me get him onto the sled.” He crouched by Vader’s feet. Kay copied the motion and began to lift. He had been aware the weight would be significant. He had seen the blueprints of all of Vader’s cybernetics, limbs and organs both. It was still a strain on his servos, but at least they did not have to move him far. The sled’s repulsor unit whined when they dropped their burden onto it, but recalibrated quickly. There was a tarp hanging over the sled’s steering bar, and Cassian draped it over Vader trying to hide his form as best he could. Any sort of humanoid-shaped cargo was inherently suspicious. The hum of the repulsorlift helped to mask the sound of Vader’s breathing, but it didn’t cover it up completely. 

Kaytoo factored that into his analysis of their chances, then ran through the copies of the stolen blueprints in his mind trying to find a way to quieten the noise. Whatever Cylo’s intentions had been, such fine control had not necessarily been among them, but the neural chip’s position did effectively give it a link to all of the functions of Vader’s cybernetics that had already existed. It did seem possible to pause the ventilator momentarily, such that Vader could essentially ‘hold his breath’. It could not safely be sustained for long periods. 

“Cassian, may I see the control transmitter.”

“Here.” Cassian passed it over without complaint. “What are you..?” Kaytoo had already uploaded the new protocol and activated it. The ventilator reset into a slower and quieter rhythm, one that meshed better with the white noise of the repulsorlift. Cassian smiled, although it was attenuated by his own fear. 

“Let’s go then,” Cassian said, and started to push the sled. 

\----

After the surprisingly traumatic experience of being Darth Vader’s shuttle pilot, Bodhi had been relieved to find he had nothing else on his official schedule for that day except to wait around for Vader to come back. There was no expected time frame either. He wasn’t looking forward to being bounced around by Vader’s starfighter-pilot maneuvers again, but at least this time he would know to strap himself in properly. He stayed alert for the first hour, but after that boredom had worn away his self-control too much. He pulled out the sabbac deck he kept in the inside pocket of his flight suit and began to deal out a one player version of the game. 

This kept him occupied for most of the next hour until he heard an alert ping over the shuttle’s internal speakers. Someone had just signalled that they were approaching outside.

Bodhi jumped to his feet and shoved the cards back into their stack roughly, hiding them away again before springing to get the entrance ramp down. When he stuck his head out though there was no sign of Vader. Instead he saw an Imperial droid, three stormtroopers, and a repulsorlift sled standing at the bottom of the ramp. The moment the tip of the ramp touched the ground they were already moving up it. 

“Hey guys, I think you’ve got the wrong shuttle,” Bodhi said, trying to stand in their way. He was gently pushed to the side by the leading stormtrooper. “No really,” he tried to insist. “I don’t think you’re meant to be here.”

As soon as the sled was inside the main hold, one of the troopers slammed the button to close the ramp back up again. “You’re the pilot, right?” he asked. 

Bodhi puffed himself up, angry at being ignored. “Yes I am!” he said. “But like I said, you’re not supposed to be here. I’m assigned already for the whole day.” He scooped up the datapad with his schedule on it and brandished it. “This is Darth Vader’s shuttle! You need to leave or you’re going to be in serious trouble.”

The troopers exchanged glances. Then the burly one lifted his blaster and pointed it at Bodhi’s chest. “It’s a little late for that. We’re leaving Jedha. You are going to take us.”

Bodhi lifted his hands, unable to tear his eyes away from the dark metal mouth that was the blaster’s muzzle. His mind was trying to make sense of the situation but every thought just kept circling back around to the imminent threat of death. Who were these people? Why had they chosen _his_ shuttle? 

Probably because his was the only one sitting here doing nothing. 

Luck was not on his side today. 

“Please don’t kill me,” he said. How much begging was too much? He didn’t want to die but he didn’t want to make them irritated enough to shoot him either. 

“We have no intention of killing you,” one of the other stormtroopers said. He was holding a long staff, for some reason, and he had a calming voice. Bodhi relaxed ever so slightly almost against his better judgement. The trooper currently menacing him growled in annoyance, but didn’t contradict his comrade’s words. “We want you to fly this shuttle, and if you don’t agree we will be forced to take you prisoner yes, but we will not take your life.”

The third stormtrooper had taken off his helmet to reveal a scruffy-looking young man with dark hair and decidedly non-regulation stubble. He was looking at Bodhi with disgust. “He works for the Empire,” he said. “There is no need to show him mercy.”

Bodhi twitched slightly, reacting to sudden confusion. “Ah, don’t you all work for the Empire too?” he asked.

“No,” the scruffy man said shortly, and pulled his own blaster pistol from his waist. He gestured from Bodhi to the shuttle cabin with it. “Are you going to fly or not?”

“Yes, yes okay,” Bodhi said, making a very quick decision. Quick because it was easy, because it wasn’t really a choice. The nice one had said they wouldn’t kill him, but what reason did he have to believe that? He started to move when the noise that had been rasping along the edge of his conscious mind finally made its way through. He stopped, becoming aware that it was possible to feel an even worse sense of dread. “What… what’s that noise?” he asked. His head turned almost of its own accord towards the pile of cloth and tarpaulin covering the cargo sled. 

“None of your concern,” said the trooper with the blaster rifle. “Go.”

Bodhi did as he was told. He already knew the answer to his question. Knew because it was the worst possible thing it could be. That was just the way his day was going. 

Who were these people? They weren’t real stormtroopers, although they must know enough about Imperial ways to mimic it well enough to get into the garrison and all the way to his shuttle. But what sort of insurgents would be daring or foolish enough to have captured Darth kriffing Vader?

\----

He was dreaming. It was a familiar place. The flat lava fields of Mustafar, the view that stretched for miles around his castle. The dark silhouette of it was a mountain peak against the horizon. Lazy, sluggish rivers of lava wound through the landscape. He came here often, in his mind. In sleep, or in deep meditation. The two states were often the same these days. 

There was no sign of the complex that had been here years ago. When he had slaughtered the remaining Separatists and won the final victory for the Empire that solidified his Master’s grip on the galaxy. It had not been maintained, and so it had fallen to the eternal churn of the ever-changing planet. There were new buildings at this site now in the real world, the Crucible of the Inquisitorius, but in his mindscape at least the place where his wife had died was nothing. It was a wasteland, and he himself was naught but shadow and crackling red energy. 

He had been here for some time. He was in the heart of the Force of course, as he always was, but his meditations did not normally go on for so long. There was always some trivial military matter that required his attention, or a summons from his Master. Sleep itself was a shallow and fleeting thing, and he did not dream well. So why was it that he remained here? Why had he not awoken? 

The Dark gave him no concrete answers. Indeed it appeared almost uncertain, which was an unfamiliar sensation. The Dark Side was surety, of being and of will. Doubt was an emotion of weakness, not strength. 

There seemed to be no answers here. Therefore he ought not remain here, though it was always a temptation to do so. This place was not peaceful and never could be; the turmoil of the planet reflected Vader’s own turmoil whenever he thought of what had happened here fifteen years ago. Yet there was a kind of bleak satisfaction in the pain. A knowledge that when he was here, he deserved everything he was feeling, everything that happened to him. The truth of it was though that he did not merit even that meagre comfort of a sort of warped justice. 

His work was not yet done. The duty fate had bound him to still remained. He must awaken…

Darth Vader swam up to consciousness as though ascending out of draining bacta. A familiar sensation. When he opened his eyes it was to the familiar red filter of his suit, but the view beyond was not what he expected. He appeared to be lying sprawled on his side; the position was not comfortable and he could tell that there would already be bruising from the awkward pressure of his internal cybernetics. He had been fighting… there had been… 

He tried to sit up. His limbs did not obey his brain. It was as he now remembered; that sudden loss of control, the dawning horror of paralysis. Both circuitry and nerves numb to him, even the steady work of his respirator halted. He had only been able to act finally through the Force, through a clumsy telekinetic grip on his own flesh and metal. He had not wondered at the time how this had been effected - ending the life of the one responsible was the only thing that had mattered. 

That man was no longer an arm’s reach away. Vader cast his awareness out through the Force. He could feel the close confines of a ship and the blurring of the universe outside of it that marked hyperspace travel. He sensed four human minds, all familiar. Two were Guardians, another the rebel insurgent who had done this to him, and the last the shuttle pilot from this morning. 

That could be no coincidence. How had he concealed his treachery so well? Vader had sensed nothing from him. 

Yet neither had he attempted to probe too deeply. He had not thought it warranted. 

He had perhaps acted rashly before, although in the moment there had appeared little other choice. Now he had the opportunity to consider what had happened with the scrutiny it deserved. The fact that he even had that opportunity surprised him; specifically that he was still alive surprised him. He had seen the intent in the rebel’s mind. He had come to Jedha to kill him. Yet here Vader lay, still breathing. What had stayed the man’s hand? 

The Will of the Force of course, in the grander scheme of things, but the man himself had not been Force-sensitive and could not be expected to know of such things. How had the Force enacted its will? That was the more interesting question. 

When Vader found a way through whatever had been done to him, he would rip that and all the other secrets from the man very bones. The rebel would rue the day the Force ever set their paths to cross. 

Now what had been done? Vader tried to assess his state, pouring his frustration into the Dark Side to draw its strength to him. He had no more training in the healing arts than had been the basics for any Jedi padawan, and this seemed to be something small. There was nothing large, nothing obvious. Nothing called through the Force as clearly wrong. 

He tried moving with the Force as he had before, and felt his arm twitch as he lifted it. It was a strange sensation, and a great effort. He was used to channeling the Force through himself, using it to enhance the action of what organic parts of him remained. Taking full control and pushing his limbs into action was something different, something beyond that. With a grunt of effort he focused his anger, the ever-present throb of his pain, and sat up. 

The sheets which had been partially covering his body slid off. The voice of a droid - a presence he had not noticed until now - spoke. 

“Oh no,” it said, although without the fear he might have expected. “We can’t have that.”

There was a strange sensation in the back of his neck a little like a tiny shock of lightning, and Vader felt unconsciousness come for him again. 

\----

**5 BBY - Dantooine, Dantooine System, Rioballo Sector, Outer Rim Territories**

As they came out of hyperspace above Dantooine Cassian felt himself begin to relax for the first time in hours. There hadn’t been much to do during the trip but with the cargo they were carrying he hadn’t felt safe enough to allow himself any time to process exactly what had happened. The rest of his team bar Kaytoo were dead. He had picked up two complete strangers who had technically stopped him completing his mission. He was taking them, along with an Imperial shuttle pilot, to the Rebel Alliance’s secret base. He had Darth Vader, the Emperor’s executioner, scourge and murderer of countless planets, unconscious in the back of the ship. 

None of this made sense. None of this was what he had set out to do. 

It had all been so simple, even the high chance of death. Win, or die trying. Not this chaos. Not flying blind into an uncertain, utterly nonsensical future. 

He spared a glance over to the shuttle pilot. His flight suit gave his name as ‘B. Rook’. The man seemed a nervous type which didn’t make sense for someone who had been picked to fly for Vader, but at least he had calmed down during the trip once he saw that nobody was going to immediately try to kill him. It did leave the question of what they would do with him once they arrived. 

Rook hadn’t chosen to defect. He was a prisoner, just like Vader was. Usually the Alliance didn’t take prisoners, not unless there was something useful they could get out of them. If they captured an Imp it was usually because that was the aim of the mission in the first place. Cassian would have prefered to have knocked Rook out and left him at the bottom of the boarding ramp, but they had needed his knowledge of Imperial codes to get away from Jedha. He might still have information it would be worth getting out of him, but what about after that? 

Rook might be persuaded to defect out of a sheer lack of other options, but under those circumstances would they ever be able to trust him? They couldn’t give him a ship to fly for the Alliance - chances were he would take it and run. Did he have any other useful skills? Another option was Sunspot Prison, but space there was limited. For his own part Cassian would have had no particular objection to executing him, but many of the other members of the Rebel Alliance didn’t have the ruthlessness he and Draven did. 

In the end Rook’s fate wasn’t his problem. Draven or the council would decide what to do with him.

“I’m not detecting any sign of life down there,” Rook said, drawing him out of his thoughts. The two of them were alone in the cockpit; Rook to fly and Cassian to make sure he didn’t try anything. There wasn’t room for Chirrut and Baze as well. They were staying near Vader in case Kay needed any help. 

“You won’t,” Cassian told him. The Rebellion had spent a lot of time learning how to hide themselves from the Empire. “Just take us down to the coordinates I showed you.”

Rook shrugged and did as he was told. There was a strict protocol for strange vessels entering base systems. First, wait and see if they were just passing through. Second, wait and see if they seemed to be there for a purpose or were scouting with no specific location as the focus of their search. Third, prep the anti-air defences and the starfighters. Fourth, to be used only if the ship seemed to be approaching the base directly, hail it and wait for the right passcodes. If the passcodes were incorrect the ship would be forced to the ground and the crew questioned. 

The route he’d asked Rook to take would leave no doubt that this shuttle knew exactly where it was going - the Rebel base itself. Cassian waited for the hail to come. 

The comms unit crackled to life. The woman’s voice that came from it sounded calm and disinterested, as it was meant to. “The centre holds the distant stars in sway.” 

“Water slips from the centre’s iron grip,” Cassian replied, with the other half of the code-phrase. There was a brief pause. 

“Identify.”

Cassian gave his own personal code. There was a slightly longer wait, though not enough to make him worry, before Draven came over the line. 

“Agent Andor. Your mission was successful?”

“After a manner of speaking sir,” Cassian replied. There was no way to explain over a comm line the whole mess of it. “We have a couple of prisoners for you Commander.”

“That wasn’t part of your mission Agent,” Draven said. “I’ll be waiting when you land to hear the full story.”

“Yes sir. Things did not go according to the plan.”

“I’m beginning to get that impression yes.”

The comm unit went dead. Rook kept to the flight path, his eyes dead ahead and very carefully not looking at Cassian or at the comms. Cassian wondered if he had guessed yet that he was part of the Rebel Alliance. It wouldn’t remain a secret to him for very much longer. In a few more moments the base came into view between stands of trees; prefab buildings of various sizes; hangers, bunkhouses, long distance communications, the mess hall. Cassian saw Rook’s eyes widen a little, his hands tense slightly on the controls. 

“Land over there,” Cassian told him, pointing to a clearing a little way from the main hub of the buildings. The fewer people who knew about their ‘cargo’ the better. It couldn’t remain a secret forever, but it should be one for as long as possible. 

By the time the shuttle settled down a small crowd of people was waiting for them. Cassian could see Draven as well as - rather to his surprise - Bail Organa. He was aware of the Senator’s role in the background of the Rebellion but it was rare to ever see him in person. He wondered what might have been important enough for him to risk potentially being connected back to the Alliance. Cassian’s own mission? Surely not. His presence here must just be a coincidence. 

“Come on then,” he told Rook, motioning for him to leave the cockpit first. The pilot did as he was told. Chirrut and Baze were already waiting for them in the main hold, along with Kay and the cargo sled. The Guardians had changed out of the stormtrooper armour during the trip - Cassian was uncomfortably aware that he had not had the same chance. Still it wasn’t as though anyone was going to mistake him for an Imp. 

“Welcome to Dantooine,” he said, and went to lower the ramp. “Let’s go try explain this ridiculous story.”


End file.
